


It's in the past

by Beweme



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Constant (Don't Starve), References to Depression, Self-Doubt, Self-Worth Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, because someone has to take care of maxwell, he sure as hell doesnt, maxwell is angsting, wilson and charlie are good partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27633274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beweme/pseuds/Beweme
Summary: It's hard to sleep when it's so cold. And when the people you love are warm and sleeping beside you. And when they would be better off if you were gone.
Relationships: Charlie/Maxwell (Don't Starve), Charlie/Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve), Charlie/Wilson (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	It's in the past

**Author's Note:**

> Vent writing mixed with fave character/otp feels. Something quick out of my chest.

  
It was always a little chilly in fall, especially in nighttime, even tugged under the blanket and safely inside the four walls and a roof. But, _actually_ even being able to sleep inside an _actual_ building was a blessing of it's own, so nobody ever complained. Not Maxwell, at least, not out loud. He had slept in worse places, and he knew he wasn't the only one.

The man shuddered and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Though he tried to fight the cold, it sneaked to his insides, freezing his toes and fingers, shivers running up his spine. He just furrowed his brows together and ignored the cold the best he could. But as he tried to curl up under the blanket to get warm, his knees hit the back of his other partner, who in turn let out a sleepy noise and shifted in discomfort. Maxwell froze and waited, but the other man was still asleep, only searching a good way to settle himself to sleep again, until falling back to the unconscious state.

Maxwell sat up and watched him. It was a miracle that Wilson didn't wake up, lord knows he always slept one eye open, half-asleep and ready to act. Maxwell was relieved the man had managed to stay asleep, he was far more tolerable if he wasn't sleep-deprived and grumpy the whole day long.

The man rose his head to watch the other person behind the smaller man, who was also, thank goodness, soundly asleep. Wilson had his hand lazily over Charlie's waist, holding her loosely in his sleep. Maxwell very carefully slithered away under the blanket as to not wake them up, and placed it to cover the other two sleeping people. It was very rare that all of them were even sleeping, let alone sleeping well, so he didn't want to stay and bother them when they actually got some shut-eye for once.

He wasn't going to get any sleep anyway.

The man quietly walked out of the house and sat on the porch, leaning on the door. It was cold and dark outside, something rustled the dead dry leaves on the ground. The wind was howling like in a bad horror movie, and it was very lonely, very forgotten feeling he had out here, especially knowing there was warmth of the bed and his partners inside the house.

On times like this it was easy to remember that he was far better off than he ever deserved to be. He didn't have a reason to complain or a heart to be ungrateful. And he couldn't stop the creeping feeling like he had something he really shouldn't have. Something he had stolen, taken undeservingly. He had cheated in life and got not just one, but two people he loved dearly to be his, and sometimes it just hit him like a lightning that he hadn't done anything good to either of them. He had only ever made their lives worse, and he'd have to work for the rest of his life to make it up to them any way he could.

Maxwell shivered when the breeze blew by him, huddled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself, and regretting that he didn't bring any blanket or even a jacket with him, as he blankly stared at the distant darkness in the unkempt garden.

He could go. Leave. He knew that neither Charlie or Wilson could forget what they had to go through, and they couldn't move on, not fully, not ever, as long as he was here with them. He knew that they would be okay just by themselves, had somehow learned to be okay even after all that had happened, and sometimes he felt like he was only slowing them down, pulling them back when they really wanted to move forward. And he didn't want to do that to them.

If there was one thing he had done for their benefit, it was bringing them together. They got along like they had been best friends forever, and it was comforting to know they could have each other now, could have someone to love and lean on, someone who understood and was healthy, trustworthy partner through thick and thin. Bringing them together, letting them have each other, had been the only good thing Maxwell ever did to them, and he...

He was in the way. He knew, even if there wouldn't have been anything between any of them, he'd still be in the way.

As glad as he was that the other two had found someone to understand and trust and relate to in one another, he also knew that, unfortunately, that understanding and trusting and relating was partly due to his own mistakes. If he hadn't hurt them, there'd be no need to have someone who understood the hurt you had gone through, if he hadn't been a terrible person, they wouldn't have trust issues, if he hadn't made both of their lives Hell and made them struggle in the Constant, they wouldn't relate to the same pain, same fear, same trauma that they now did.

Maxwell was starting to feel his toes numbing from the chill of the autumn night, and his throat felt cold, but he really didn't want to go back inside. Had he really any right to be there with the other two, when he was the very reason for their suffering?

No, he didn't. He didn't have right to their kind smiles or gentle touches, he didn't have right to be treated like he was welcome there, like he belonged with them, like he was actually wanted near them.

Suddenly the bed didn't sound so comforting and warm anymore. Suddenly he knew that if he went back and tried to settle down to get some sleep, he'd feel the icy stares on him, cold shoulders and freezing, mean words. He knew, they were there, just waiting in the darkness, waiting for the right moment... They were waiting for him to become weak, soften up, they were waiting that he would start believing that he had a place where he was wanted, that he was forgiven and he was loved, cared for, and then they would crush it down, break everything he thought he had and take it all away from him.

Everything would be remembered, it would all be out in the open and put on the table. Given to him and then taken away, and it was ridiculous, absurd that he even dared to wish that it was all real, that it was for _him_. Of course it wasn't, why would it be? It was for someone else, that's why he felt like he had something he shouldn't, it's because he did. His place was meant for someone else, someone who would also be healthy and trustworthy and _not him_.

Would they be relieved in the morning if he left now? He'd probably get lost in the woods, freeze to death, all too skinny and tired, nothing but his pants and shirt on. He'd be dead by the morning, maybe eaten by some creatures living behind the raggedy old house.

Wilson would likely laugh and be glad that the last thing that reminded him of the whole nightmare was over. Charlie would cry because she would be so happy that he was finally dead, finally gotten what he deserved. Then they would leave his body rotting there, not bothering to bury him, because burial was for people who deserved the final rest, deserved the place to lay on and a mark to remind people of their existence. Not for him, he was only better forgotten and gone.

Without a warning and very suddenly the door thumped against his back and made Maxwell flinch.

"...Maxy? Are you outside? There's something in the way, if you are there then wait, I'm going to climb out of the window!"

Maxwell didn't answer, only getting more uncomfortable hearing her voice. Of course she would be awake, nobody in this house seemed to be able to get the healthy amount of sleep. It was too late to leave now, unless he told her. Maybe they would come to some kind of understanding about things, maybe they could discuss it like adults instead of pretending that things were fine while the terrible, hateful, bitter thoughts were looming over the house, the daggers secretly in every stare, the poison behind every word, the burn in touches that should've been natural.

He knew they were both only playing nice to him, too kind to openly chase him away, too friendly to say it straight to his face. But he hadn't forgotten. It had been said out loud in the past, and it didn't need to be said out loud again for him to remember.

_I hate you_

And he remembered the way it had been said, the voice so sure, so certain and burning with passion, the weight of the anger and loathing and disgust in every single sound. They did hate him, he knew it, he accepted it.

There was a loud rattling in the other side of the house, then a clank, and voices of struggling, huffs and puffs.

Maxwell shivered and bit his teeth tightly together to stop their clattering. Perhaps she would even say goodbye, if he told her. She might, Charlie had always been compassionate and worry over the people she held close to her, and even though Maxwell was far from her love and affection, she could still lend him a kind farewell, just because he would be gone forever afterwards.

It was a nice little thought, to be even told goodbye at all. It had always been more like 'Good riddance' with him. He had to wonder if Jack had held a funeral after he disappeared. Maybe, there might have been a goodbye of sorts, thought he wasn't sure. He had been gone for so long that maybe they had gotten used to his absence, not even missing him after he disappeared. Good riddance and goodbye, if there was any difference, he wasn't sure if there would be for him.

The slender, soft hand landed on his shoulder as Charlie had, apparently, found her way out of the house now, and sat down next to him. Her hands were so cold. It was freezing out here, she should've been inside, in the bed, warmly tugged inside the softest blanket and leaned her head to the big, comfy pillow, next to the one person who was pleasurably warm and comfortable to touch. But she was out here, because she was still Charlie, after all.

"A bad dream?" she asked and rubbed his shoulders gently, and suddenly there was a blanket put over his shoulder as Charlie pulled it on both of them and sat close, so close her hips brushed against his and her shoulder leaned on his arm. Maxwell suddenly realized just how terribly cold it really was out here when the warmth of another person close to him started to feel hot like a fully heated thermal stone. Or a stove, since they were here now. Warm either way, too warm and too nice.

Maxwell rose up his shoulders and just shook his head. Not a bad dream, a bad reality. Charlie hummed and shivered, wrapping her arms around his, and leaned the top of her head on his shoulder.

"Jeez... It's freezing" she muttered and pulled her legs closer to her body, and Maxwell collected himself enough to gently let the blanket fall off of him, and wrapped it better around her partner. Charlie smiled at him, but her eyes stayed concerned and suspicious. Maxwell only placed his fingers under her chin to give her a one fond touch before he hugged himself again and and curled up, leaning his chin on his arms.

"Go back inside, back in the bed. I'm sure it's pleasantly cozy in there" he sighed, trying his best to keep himself from trembling from the cold, trying to sound like he had a good old time out here, he was just watching the dark silhouettes of the trees swaying against the night sky, he was just awake for no reason and wanted the fresh air.

Charlie only hummed in a way that told Maxwell that she was not buying it, and the woman only leaned against him again, rising her arm to rub his shoulders gently "Come inside Maxy, you're gonna get cold out here."

Maxwell shook his head. He couldn't go back in the house, there was still another person in there, the man he really cared for, but he knew that there was only more hate and disgust and despise in there with him, and on the most days he was able to act like he didn't care and he could handle it just fine, but not right now. Right now he knew that he was going to crumble down and break into million sharp pieces if he went there, and he knew that the little pieces would only cut Wilson's feet and make him uncomfortable, hurt him, and he didn't want that, he really didn't.

He felt the pressure building up in his chest. Maybe it was freezing out here because of him, maybe he was draining the life and light and warmth out of the atmosphere. It was so cold, he didn't feel his toes anymore, the icy night air prickling and stinging his insteps now. He'd not be able to walk very far if he didn't leave soon. Charlie could go inside and sleep worry free, knowing he was finally, finally gone forever.

He swallowed and carefully opened his mouth, lips getting wet from the warm breath as it hit the cold air "Charlie..."

He was going to tell her, they'd trade the quick, polite goodbyes, and she would tell Wilson in the morning. Maybe they'd celebrate. Maybe everyone would be invited, too. It was going to be the best party they would ever have in the entire history of mankind. Good riddance, may he be forgotten for the rest of their lives.

Maxwell only got to inhale when the door thumped against his back _again_ , and there was a short silence, until the door-handle started to rattle. Maxwell sighed at the noise and rubbed his forehead.

"Ah, Wilson!" Charlie shouted "Climb out the window, we're on the porch. It's stuck half-way, but you'll fit!"

There was a sound of struggle when the scientist run through the house and hoisted himself through the stuck window as well. Why did these people take climbing out of window so lightly like it was normal?

Maxwell furrowed his brows together and closed his eyes. He really didn't want Wilson to be here to witness this. Where he could see that Charlie was maybe able to fake a nice goodbye, he was a bit more afraid that Wilson was going to be cranky that he had been woken up and forced to go outside, and he wasn't going to pretend that he cared.

"Why are you outside?" the man asked and walked where his two partners were sitting "It's god damn icy out here."

Maxwell curled into himself and hugged himself tighter. So much for the easy farewells, now they would only tell him that yes, it was better that he would go, they didn't want him here, this wasn't his home and he was never welcome here. He was never part of the relationship, he was just the third wheel, they only tolerated him because they were too nice. Maxwell couldn't handle hearing all that tonight, not right now.

"Max? What's going on?"

He felt Wilson sitting on his other side, rising his hand to stroke his back up and down with careful movements. While Charlie's hands were soft and delicate, his were rough and tense, but just as gentle, just as cautious to touch him. 

"Really Max... It's almost three in the morning. Why are you here?"

Why was he here? It was his cue to go, obviously. He wasn't wanted here, they wanted to know why was he still here. Why was he here like he was welcomed? He wasn't, they wanted him to leave.

"How long have you been sitting here? Your toes are almost blue."

Wilson sounded tired and worried. And then there was yet another contact when he let go of him to rub his numb feet with his hot hands, and the body heat on both of Maxwell's sides made him feel ever colder, even lonelier, even more sure that he was in the way, literally between them, breaking them apart, ruining everything up again. He had brought them together, he didn't want to stay here and ruin the one good thing he had ever done for them. He was sure they wouldn't want it either.

"I think he's had a nightmare. He doesn't want to talk about it." Charlie pitched in, voice as tender as ever. She had always been better than him, she had always been the good part of everything in his life, the better part of his heart, his soul, his whole existence. Without her he was left with only the good half what Wilson had brought, the half that kept him going, kept him alive, kept him on his feet. Without them he was nothing. Nothing at all.

What was there to even miss, when there hadn't been anything in the first place? He was ready to stand up and leave to find his lonely grave in the forest. They didn't need to know where he went and curled up to die, better keep it unknown too. Easier to forget that way.

The hands rubbing his feet stopped as Wilson sighed, and he got up to speak to Charlie.

"Right. Let's go back inside. It's freezing, in the middle of the night, and I am tired as hell. Come on, I really don't want to stand out here and get a flue."

Maxwell felt a sting in his chest, a tagger stabbed through his heart. Right, it was time to go now. The man got up, a quiet groan in his lips, feeling something ache in his spine as he did.

When standing up, the night air felt only colder, the wind pushing his back stronger as it hit his tall, thin stature. Even the wind wanted him gone. The man wrapped his arms around himself, only now realizing that his fingers felt stiff and numb as well, the feeling only faintly in there, tips already gone senseless. He took in a shaky breath, left his silent goodbye to the two people who had tolerated him longer than he should've forced them to, and started walking to the forest where he could fade away as nothing more than a bad memory.

"Uh, Maxwell?"

"Where are you going?"

The man stopped, furrowed his brows in confusion, and turned around to see both Wilson and Charlie staring at him. The door was open, Wilson almost inside already, but neither of them were moving, not even facing the house. They were looking at him with troubled, worried expressions. Maxwell opened his mouth, unsure what to say. Where was he going? Did they really want to know? To avoid the place?

"I... I don't know" he said with a trembling breath, frozen in place. Wilson swept his hand through his face and hopped down from the porch, heading towards him. Maxwell tensed up, unsure what they waited from him, if Wilson didn't want him to go before he had given him one last punch in the face for a good measure, one last _I hate you_ so it would be the last thing he remembered when his body started to rot away and his mind slowly dimmed down.

But Wilson only wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled Maxwell's arm to rest over his shoulder with his other one, and started to gently pull him along back to the house. Maxwell let him, wasn't sure what else to do. Charlie waited for them to get inside before following behind, closing the door and then walking with them to the bathroom.

"It's okay Max, it's okay." Wilson was mumbling at him the whole time when he took off his clothes while Charlie started to fill the tub "Can you feel your feet?"

Maxwell sighed shook his head "No... Not feeling my fingers either..."

Charlie let out a compassionate little sigh and walked past him out of the room, but not before leaning to kiss him softly.

"I'll get the towel for you."

Maxwell felt a sudden need to protest against this. He didn't need to be taken care of, he was fine, they were both sleepy, they wouldn't need to stay up for him, stay awake when they could've been sleeping and resting and dreaming.

"No, there's no need, I..."

"Maxwell, you're seriously gonna lose all of your toes if we don't warm them up." Wilson only snapped at him. Maxwell fell silent. He just scowled and turned his head away. There was still the need to protest, the growing feeling of how wrong this was, how they were still trying to be nice, trying to act like they cared.

It made Maxwell almost miss the way Winona treated him, expecting more from him, scolding him and forcing him to earn the trust and help and reminding him that he needed to be better if he wanted to keep the people in his life. Charlie said it's just the way she showed that she cared, and Maxwell couldn't argue even if he wanted to, because now that Charlie had her sister back, he didn't want to ruin their relationship by being difficult.

Wilson and Winona got along well, too. They were like siblings themselves, argued a lot but never got mean, never said anything truly hurtful. Maxwell was afraid he'd come between them, too.

Charlie returned to the bathroom, and she and Wilson hold him up and helped him into the tub. And Maxwell let out a long, withheld sigh. He couldn't lie and say he didn't feel good when he sunk into the warm, soft water, and his toes and fingers almost burned in the sudden change in the temperature. Wilson was leaning to rub his shoulders gently and still muttering something under his breath, something that Maxwell wasn't really paying attention to. Until the man rose his head up to speak to Charlie again.

"I don't think he's good. Ah, no, don't panic, he is going to be fine, I just mean that..." there was a small pause "I think he's not well. In the head, right now."

Maxwell bowed his head and felt something strangle his heart. He wasn't good, he wasn't well in the head. He was a bad person and he wasn't healthy, they were afraid he'd do something bad again, that he would hurt them. He shook his head, he wasn't going to hurt them, he didn't meant to, he didn't _want to_. He hunched down to hide himself in shame, which drew the other man's attention back to him, and the hand on his shoulder rose up to stroke his hair tenderly.

"Hey, it's going to be fine, don't worry. We're here. You're not alone, we're here with you."

Maxwell didn't have enough courage to face the other man, he just hung his head and closed his eyes. The warmth had started to return, it sting and pricked as the blood started flowing in his veins again, the sense and feeling returning back to his frozen body, and his fingers didn't feel so stiff anymore, his toes were there again, he could move them when he tried to. It hurt, and the man winced and tried to got up, but now Charlie had moved next to Wilson and helped the man keep him down in the warm water.

"Shh, it's okay, it's going to be over soon, it's going to be okay."

It's going to be over? Was he going to die after all?

Maxwell just hugged himself, didn't know what else he could do, didn't know what he could say to defend himself. He wasn't cold anymore, but now it hurt when his body started to function again, and he felt tired and _now_ he would've almost even preferred the cold, the numbness, the loss of the feeling, loss of the pain. And the two pairs of hands were holding him and voices were speaking to him, and he realized that he had become very aware that he was naked and he was shivering like the leaves in the wind, and he couldn't stop.

He knew he was very thin, too thin, should eat more and worry less like Wilson liked to remind him, and he knew he was much older than the other two. The cold got to him faster and stayed inside his bones far longer than it had right to. It was bothersome, it made him feel ashamed. Perhaps he could put on some weight, but that was as far as he could help things. He was getting older, now that he wasn't on the throne, now that he wasn't in the Constant, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He was already dying, slowly, but dying nonetheless. It would happen to him much sooner than it would happen to Wilson or Charlie. It scared him to think how much faster he his health would drop, how much sooner the illnesses would take hold of him, how he would eventually become too weak and too frail to do anything, do even less than he did now.

He wasn't old, not _that_ old, but much older than Wilson or Charlie. If he was already this difficult, if he was already making them feel like they needed to take care of him, how much worse would he make their lives in the future? How much more did he have to take away from them? Was he ever going to stop?

It would be better to let someone else have his place. Someone who would be less trouble and less bother, less like him. Someone who was part of the relationship instead of being in the way of it.

"... This's enough" he managed to mutter out in a husky, quiet voice, and this time when he tried to get up, he was actually allowed to, and Charlie didn't waste any time before wrapping the big towel over him, which he clung his hands to and felt somewhat better, when the warm and soft thing brushed against his skin.

The small comfort was short lived when Wilson's hand landed on his back, and the man pulled him along, back to the bedroom. Maxwell stopped dead on his track in the doorway when he realized where he was walking. No, not the bedroom, he shouldn't, he only made it cold with his presence and he shouldn't be there. He already felt the pressure building on his shoulders, on his neck, pushing him down. He felt so overpowered by the feeling of being out of the place, being the one thing that didn't belong, that he took a step back in panic, but was stopped by the steady, strong hand still on his back.

"Hey, what's wrong Max?" Wilson asked. He sounded worried. Maxwell shook his head. It was him, _he_ was wrong. But his refusal to walk further didn't help, because Wilson pulled him along like he was nothing, not probably even noticing how anxious he had suddenly become. He was sat on the bed where he curled up inside the towel and sink into himself, tried to stop existing and turn invisible.

Charlie walked into the room and blinked her eyes at him, the worried frown on her face. She walked to sit next to him, and soon the soft small hand touched carefully his cheek. Maxwell closed his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it, honey? We're right here, you know we want to listen."

Maxwell only sunk deeper in the towel, wishing he'd disappear right here, right now.

"I... I'm sorry I'm still here. I didn't mean to be... for this long..."

The moment the words left his mouth the hand on his cheek started to stroke him in slow, comforting movements, and the owner of the hand pressed closer, her other arm moving to hold his back and pulling him into a hug, and he stopped, froze in place and fell quiet again.

"It's okay, love. Go on, I'm listening."

Maxwell finally gathered enough courage to give her a quick glance, and then slowly and nervously let his eyes wander to find Wilson, who was leaning on the wall, watching. When their eyes met, the man gave him a smile, although Maxwell was sure it was pulled on his face just because he didn't want to be rude. He was a gentleman, after all.

The man was silent for a moment longer, until he hung his head.

"I'm happy you have each other."

Wilson and Charlie exchanged a look, and the younger man walked to sit on the bed as well. Maxwell started to feel pressured, and suddenly the feeling of dread returned, that there was the unspoken toxic air hovering in the place, surrounding him, and the unspoken and loud _I hate you I wish you were dead_ was ringing in his ears. But he just took a deep breath and forced himself to be calm, forced himself to stay collected so he wouldn't cause any more trouble tonight.

"... I'm happy you have something good together, I don't want to take that away from you. Don't worry, I'm going to stay out of your way now, you don't have to tolerate me here, I won't be freeloading in your home anymore-"

Maxwell gasped when Charlie suddenly tightened her grip so much that she almost crushed him, and Wilson wrapped his arms around him as well. The man blinked, eyes directed at the ground and his cold - but not frozen anymore - toes. He was at loss. He couldn't for the life of him understand why would they react this way. Unless they were just so happy that he was finally going to leave, that they'd even give him a hug? To thank him for finally getting the hint and getting the fuck out of their lives, out of their relationship, their home?

Yes, that must be it. That's what's happening. A small smile started to hover over Maxwell's lips. He was able to do a one last good thing for them, after all. They weren't in the Constant anymore, so they wouldn't have to worry about seeing him again. Once he was gone, he was gone for good.

"Oh, Maxy..." Charlie sighed. She sounded like she was seriously holding back tears. Maxwell knew she would cry, she had wanted him gone longer than anyone else. It made him feel somehow bittersweet. He never wanted to be hated this much, but he was glad he could bring some happiness for her by leaving. She deserved all the happiness she could find.

Wilson was silent for a long time. Then he sighed, moved his hand to rub across his face, wiping the tiredness and frustration away, and spoke.

"Good-"

_Good riddance, leave, we don't want you here._

"- god, Max, where have you gotten that idea? You're not in the way, this is your home, too."

Maxwell felt like his whole body physically stopped working for a few seconds. His brain was blank, his chest felt empty, his hand stopped responding and he didn't feel a thing because he had left his body for a time being.

_He was not in the way._

...He wasn't?

Charlie had gotten on her knees, her head rested on the top of Maxwell's, and was currently giving small kisses on his hair, making soft, comforting sounds while swaying him in her arms slightly. Wilson gently pushed them down on the bed, pulled the towel away from Maxwell's unresponsive body, and replaced it with the blanket he tugged over the other two.

Maxwell blinked, slowly returning in his body. He just stared at the ceiling, the old planks and spiderwebs on the corners, grey and colorless in the darkness. He flinched out of his trance when Wilson rose the edge of the blanket to get under it as well, and wrapped his arm around Maxwell, fingers tickling his shoulder gently, head pressed on the pillow next to his own.

Maxwell finally dared to look at the man properly, and Wilson let the small smile curl on his face and rose his hand to sweep tenderly his cheek, a long, meaningful look in his eyes, and leaned closer to kiss him. Maxwell just laid still for a moment, before hesitantly responded to the kiss by pressing closer. The younger man hummed in appreciation and placed his hand behind his neck, pulling him close. Maxwell felt his heart beat. He didn't think it had beaten a single time tonight yet. He could only think that he didn't want to ruin this for them, but he didn't want to lose this, not really. He didn't have many good things in his life, and this was the only real one he had, the one he was given freely.

Charlie was leaning on his shoulder, one hand under his head, fingers playing with his hair, and her other hand over his chest, stroking it gently. Wilson pulled away from the kiss, gave him a tiny smile, and lowered down to rest on his shoulder as well. He pulled his hand down, and it found it's way on top of Charlie's, and they left their hands lay on Maxwell's chest.

"...I have no idea why I even love you so much, you stupid old man. You're more trouble than you're worth " Wilson snorted, and Charlie immediately slapped the back of his hand.

"Stop it, he's having a bad night. You can have your joke insults when he's in a bit better state to take them, don't you think?"

Maxwell had closed his eyes, but he felt Wilson shrunk down a bit. The silence followed Charlie's scolding, and eventually the other man spoke again, much more quietly and hesitantly.

"... Sorry. I make jokes when I'm nervous."

"Well, don't apologize to _me._ "

Maxwell felt the man beside him squirm, until he rose his head and waited another quiet moment, and then let out a sigh. Maxwell didn't mind, he was still a bit confused, still not entirely sure if he was wanted here or not, not sure why he would be wanted here when they would be so much better without. 

"Hey, Max... I didn't really mean it. You know that, right?"

He didn't actually know that. It was so easy to believe that he was more trouble than he was worth, so easy to put aside the nice little words, when the other things, the mean things, snarky little remarks and smug teases were so much louder, so much clearer. It made sense. It always made sense to be hated, much more than hearing his partners saying such unbelievable and irrational things like 'I love you'. It never sounded forced, it never sounded like they didn't mean it, but the second the echo had faded from his mind, he started to question the honesty of the words, started to doubt if he had interpreted the meaning wrong, failed to notice the sarcasm or the insulting tone in there.

But now he could only concentrate to the fact that Wilson sounded upset and worried, sorry for the thing he had said, even though he wasn't out of the line at all. His silence must've made the younger man even more nervous, because he heard the swallowing sound, and Wilson made a tense movement before speaking up again.

"...Right, Maxwell? You know I never mean it when I tease you, I... I would never want to hurt your feeling for real. I'm sorry, I... "

"God Higgsbury, shut your mouth already, I'm trying to sleep." The older man huffed, smiling sleepily. He wasn't trying to sleep. It was something that had stayed between them, the little bickering every once in a while, but it was never ill-willed or mean. Wilson got the message and let out a relieved sigh, pecking a quick kiss on his chin.

Charlie sighed too. It made Maxwell feel a tad bit better now that his partners were at ease and in the warm bed again, almost comfortable and together. He cracked his eyes open, a small dark feeling still lingering in the bottom of his stomach.

"Am I really... not in the way? Of your relationship?"

He startled when both of the others jerked up in unison to stare at him, and suddenly felt the inescapable need to sink right through the mattress to escape the pressure of the eyes on him, inspecting his every move and judging him silently.

"What the heck does that mean?" Charlie furrowed her brows anxiously, and Wilson just blinked at him like wasn't sure he had even heard right. Maxwell opened his mouth, but it took a while before the words came out, before he actually knew how to explain himself. Then he realized that he couldn't, he had no reason to blame them for leaving him outside or treating him differently. He had no right to make them feel like they had done something wrong, since it was evident they really didn't think there was a reason to even think like that. He just turned his head and swallowed.

"Ah, never mind, it's nothing." 

Wilson lowered his head to lean on Maxwell's own, and so did Charlie. He flinched but didn't try to push them away. They both snuggled closer to him, holding him tight and petting him with loving, caring touches.

"There _is_ no relationship without you, Maxy, you're just as important to me as Wilson."

"Yeah, I don't want to think about what it would be like without you. I want you to be here with me. With us."

It was unfamiliar and odd feeling, to be openly loved like this. It made the cold inside him melt a bit, and the dark swelling calmed down and just settled to lay still, waited some other time to start consuming him again. It always would, but perhaps not tonight.

He didn't feel so bad anymore, and the urge to leave, to save them from his very existence and go die somewhere alone was pushed aside by the tender and caring hands that held him close, the quiet murmurs and whispers that assured him he was wanted and loved here, wanted by the people he tried to protect by running away, and the small kisses that he was gifted with.

It actually made him want to cry a bit. But he didn't, he just laid there under the blanket and both of his loved ones, and didn't feel like the autumn chill got to him as bad as it did before.

"... If you still want me." He just mumbled, too comfortable and tired now to articulate his feelings better, just sinking deeper into the cozy soft bed and the warm, tender bodies around him.

"Shh, of course we do." Charlie's voice hummed quietly.

"It was just a bad dream... Or a bad memory. It's in the past, you're here now. We're here with you now." Wilson mumbled against his hair.

Maxwell breathed in, and the breath that swam out of his mouth felt much more gentle than the ones that had heaved in and out off his chest earlier tonight.

Just a bad memory. It's in the past.


End file.
